


Just Keep Breathing

by all_not_well



Category: Original Work
Genre: And I didn't know what to do with it, And it makes me sad, But it's slash, Dunno if it makes sense, I wrote an original thing, M/M, have some angst, so here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 08:51:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4053994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/all_not_well/pseuds/all_not_well
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a routine as familiar as breathing, and full of ghosts and shadows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Keep Breathing

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this thing, and I don't know what to do with it exactly. These guys live in my head and sometimes they need to get out for a bit. So here they are.

It was a routine as familiar as breathing.

Alex kicked off his work boots with a weary sigh, heedless of the rich brown mulch he'd just tracked onto the tiled floor of the entryway - or the mud he'd tracked yesterday, or the bits of dried hedge clippings from the day before that. He carefully emptied the pockets of his jeans: his brown leather wallet, worn and stained, the stitching beginning to come loose at one end; the phone he so rarely used, beat-up and scratched all to hell; the keys to his pickup truck parked outside, more dents and rust than faded red paint anymore. All three items he dropped carefully into the hand-painted wooden bowl sitting atop the overturned milk crate just inside the door.

He'd barely made it an hour running out of Atlanta before turning back for that bowl. Spent another thirty minutes digging through the stinking dumpster out back of his old apartment - frantic, taking foul, shallow breaths through his teeth, trying to stifle the unreasonable panic that made his heart pound and his head throb - before he'd finally found the trash bag he'd tossed it into. It had been the first gift, the first crack in his carefully constructed barriers between himself and the world. The first mark of his weakness. And he was far too weak to ever let it go.

Stupid sentiment, really, given how quick he'd been to toss out the artist that gave it to him.

Grey wolf and tawny owl chased each other 'round the outside of the bowl in an endless game - wolf leaping, owl gliding, always close to one another but never quite caught. Eight years on, the wolf's toothy grin was still as bright and feral as ever, but the owl's haunting eyes were beginning to fade away from the regular touch of cracked, callused fingertips.

Alex lightly traced his mulch-stained thumb over those amber eyes, just once, then turned away to pad in socked feet towards the kitchenette.

Supper came out of a cardboard box grabbed at random from the shallow depths of his freezer. Choice didn't really factor into it: there was meat, there was pasta, there were vegetables, and it all tasted about as good as the box itself might have done. Alex propped his hip against the counter while he waited for the microwave to ding, and ate standing right there in the same spot. His fork rattled against the plastic tray as he scraped up the last bit of sauce and rubbery noodles before tossing the tray into the trash under the sink. He soaped his fingers and used them to scrub the tines of the fork clean, then dropped it back into the drainboard to use again at breakfast.

A tepid shower sluiced off the day's hard-earned accumulation of sweat and grime. He stood under the weak spray and soaped up his half-hard cock, considering the merits of a trip back into town in search of an anonymous hole in which to lose himself for a little while.

It wasn't worth the effort, he decided with a grimace. The tedium of small-talk and mindless flirtation, and an all-too-fleeting pleasure followed by the soul-wrenching ache of loneliness. Not worth it at all.

Instead he jacked off, slick soap easing the way. His movements were rough, mechanical, the nails of his free hand digging into the grimy grout between the shower tiles. He kept his mind carefully, utterly blank - though he couldn't help the glimpse of amber eyes and a red, pouting mouth that flickered behind his closed eyelids when he finally spurted over his fingers. He ruthlessly banished the image from his thoughts and stepped back under the cooling spray. His panting breaths echoed loudly in the enclosed space, a harsh counterpoint to the rushing patter of droplets against his back. He forced his breathing to even out, to slow to something like normal as he watched the swirl of spunk and soap bubbles slide down the drain.

The loneliness came crawling in anyway, sinking into his skin as he rinsed off, settling into his bones while he toweled dry and pulled on a pair of old sweatpants to serve as his pajamas. He flicked on the tv in the bedroom to drown out the silence and settled on the twin mattress shoved into one corner, his hands folded behind his head and his gaze fixed blindly on the screen while Bruce Willis took out the bad guys with a lethal combination of snark and bullets.

A shadow crept in at the periphery of his vision; there was a rustle of fabric, and a solid weight settled over his hips. A bare chest pressed against his own, hard and smooth. Silken hair tickled his jawline, and a warm, wet mouth attacked his jugular, applying firm suction and just a hint of teeth.

"Don't leave no marks on me," Alex muttered. He shifted, moving slightly away from that eager mouth.

There was a brief hesitation. The suction eased. A slow exhale over the damp skin of Alex's neck sent a shudder through his whole frame.

"I won't." Jack's voice was little more than a whisper, warm and smooth as old whiskey. "Promise."

Jack slid lower, his tongue tracing the line of Alex's clavicle, forging a slippery path down his breastbone. Alex shivered; his nipples peaked, all but begging for the attention of those perfect, pouty lips and that clever tongue. He gritted his teeth and bit back the snarl that wanted to build behind them.

"Not gonna hurt 'cha, 'Lex." Jack pressed a barely-there kiss at the base of his sternum, his mouth ghosting over Alex's skin. "Just wanna take care of ya."

"Don't need to be taken care of."

Jack sighed and sat upright, his knees braced on either side of Alex's hips, the curve of his ass resting on Alex's thighs. His tawny eyes flashed in the flickering light of the tv screen, half-hidden behind the sleek curtain of his dark hair.

"Just look at 'cha, baby." His voice was low-pitched, deep and sorrowful. He rested one warm, broad hand against the muscled plane of Alex's abdomen, his fingers gently stroking. "You do need it. You _do_."

Alex's muscles quivered under Jack's light touch. He looked away, blinking at the tv as a particularly loud explosion on-screen lit the room in a wash of orange flames.

When he finally dared to glance back down, his lap was empty, his ghost gone to ground.

He flicked the tv off and dropped the remote onto the floor next to his mattress. Darkness settled over the room.

"You always hurt me," Alex said into the shadows. His choked voice bounced back at him, echoing from the bare walls. "Every fucking day, you prick."

It was a routine as familiar as breathing, as oppressive as the silence that pervaded the apartment, smothering him one breath at a time.


End file.
